Page 12 of Wicked Christmas Eve

7

I’d never in my life planned for a night like this, especially not here. But now, after the day I’d had… Well, my mind raced and my body grew hotter the more I thought about what else might be going on in that room.

What would it be like to be the kind of person who just let go of all inhibitions and spend a few hours just savoring the decadent pleasures of sex with no strings or messy connections attached?

Between my legs, my core clenched at the idea, and more heat began to gather. Maybe removing my thong hadn’t been a great idea after all.

A faint cracking sound interrupted my train of thought, followed by a low moan from a woman. Was that a whip? I wanted to look, but knew I shouldn’t.

My hands closed into fists.

My clothes suddenly felt too tight.

I reached for the second glass of tequila and dragged it closer. They didn't call it liquid courage for nothing.

“Hey, Boone. Can I get a bottle of water?”

The dark, rough voice slowly filtered through my head. Frozen for a moment I didn't dare move. But that didn't last long. I knew that voice and I wanted to see for myself.

The man with that smoky voice had already turned my world upside down once today. It wouldn’t be smart to take another chance. I turned in the direction of the sound anyway, unable to stop myself, and looked up into the tanned strong face—

“You have got to be kidding me.”

I’m not gonna lie. My heart didn’t leap at his reaction. Quite the opposite. In fact it wanted to turn tail and run.

Only my body didn’t cooperate as I sat there and stared up at him.

While he still looked as handsome and strong as he’d been in his office, he’d apparently gotten a little more comfortable while I’d been driving down by the river in an attempt to get my emotions under control.

Not that time and difference seemed to change things much anyway. He looked as delicious as ever, and memories of our one night together ran rampant through my mind. Not only that, there was the present mucking things up too.

I couldn’t get the image of that belt in his hand out of my head no matter how hard I tried. And now I simply wanted to follow him right back into that room and possibly beg him to do some of those—uhh—things to me.

He pushed the chair out next to me and took a seat.

I inwardly groaned. My humiliation would now be complete.

Dark pants and a dark shirt clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing the nearly bulging muscles of his arms and strong thighs. But it was his hands that ultimately drew my attention. Yes, they were large and like the rest of him I could imagine the power that would radiate through them and into my skin as he held me down.

Another groan threatened to emerge. These thoughts couldn't be normal, right? Maybe I needed counseling or an intervention.

Pushing that lovely thought aside, I continued my slow perusal.

Other than the sign of faint laugh lines around his mesmerizing green eyes, he looked exactly as I remembered. But a lot of time had passed and we didn't know much about each other anymore.

Well, he knew I needed a job, but not hopefully why. He also knew I lived in Charlotte.

I knew he was a lawyer and worked with his dad. He also had a best friend who he was close to. What else could explain that scene from earlier? He could also be a serial killer.

I inwardly balked. I highly doubted that. Cyrus may have seemed aloof and way out of my league back in high school, I genuinely believed he was a nice guy. In fact some of the little things he did to prove that is what made me fall in love with him all those years ago.

He held doors for all ages of women from fellow students to teachers and all the way up to the elderly school secretary. He also helped out with anything or anyone who needed him. Cyrus was always the first to volunteer and the last to leave a project.

I wanted to cringe. I was not a love sick teenager anymore.

And now his presence unnerved me in a brand-new way. The he's hot as sin and looks like he knows how to make a woman get dirty, kind of way. And I'd walked unknowingly into a sex club without my panties and a need to do anything that would help me temporarily forget my real life. Talk about surreal.

A night of anonymity sounded like the perfect escape. Screw this town and screw Cyrus Jackson.

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